


Ariel's Fall

by AliceMontrose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dark Character, Dark Fantasy, Heavy Angst, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMontrose/pseuds/AliceMontrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A death elf general gets himself a high elf pleasure slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ariel's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: violence, abuse, non-con, graphic rape, plenty of angst, Seraphiel POV (and yes, this goes in the warnings!)
> 
> Completed: December 1, 2004

I have always wondered how it would be like to have one of those half-witted, fragile elves into my hands. From the day I first realized our differences, and exactly why they considered themselves so much above us - or anyone, for that fact - I have dreamt of capturing one, and watch his pale eyes beg for mercy as I strangle him to his death. 

You see, though both our people were one once, and in spite of all the legends, there is no better way to make a death elf happy than let him strangle an high elf to death. 

Of course, you may say, but what about all that business of splitting your enemy open with a blade? What about shooting them down with a good bow and arrow? What about shattering their arrogant faces with a club or axe and watch their brains spill? 

I do not deny it, all these things have a certain appeal. Hells, I for one have done all the above, and more. But until recently I have never had the chance to kill one with my bare hands. They simply won't let you get that damned close to them! 

Well, this time they didn't have a choice! 

Our two lands have fought forever, it seems. They were fighting when I was born - more than five hundred years ago - and they have been doing it every since. 

Until last week, that is. 

I rather pride myself on this victory, for the strategy we have used was of my own devising. Surely, it took about a century to make it work, and the first four decades were wasted on making those stupid orc generals work together with us death elves on this. They simply didn't understand that it took intelligence and cooperation - in that precise order - to win this war. I finally solved the problem by ordering them all killed at a banquet. Sure, they were the leaders of their army - but I found plenty of enthusiastic warriors to take their place, and I got to pick only those with some brains in their head. 

Then it all came down to focus the elves' attention on the butchering going on between our two armies, while we prepared to attack their main stronghold. I led the assault myself, with a small party of my best and most vicious warriors, loyal to the death simply because I have saved their sorry asses once too many times in the past centuries. 

We were successful; the 'decisive battle' was being fought several hundred miles away, the elven offensive being led by a brilliant and excessively proud high elf by the name of Ariel Greenmoor. He also happens to be the lord of the city we have conquered - a pleasant coincidence, I should say. 

But I get ahead of the story. I was supposed to tell you more about elves, orcs and the sort. Ariel Greenmoor... he comes later. 

First of all, you must know that all the elves were once a great people. Those from whom my people came were the "dark elves", with chocolate-brown skin and fair hair and light eyes, known for their magic skills. We were a small group, really, but greatly respected all the same. 

Well, we _were_. As proud and beautiful as those excessively pale cowards they call "high elves" or "the people of the woods" these days. That is, until some sick-in-the-head tribe of mortals decided that my people were a danger to them. So they attacked us, and before we knew it most of us were killed, or taken prisoners. The latter would have been better off dead. 

We do not know for sure what form of sorcery these humans used on us, but combined with more common means of torture it turned us into what we are today: ugly to look upon, full of hatred and thoughts of revenge, feared by humans and high elves alike. Some even say we are half-breeds, and that is the worse offence of all - for no true elf would seek an orc mate, let alone breed with one. 

Still, it worked in our advantage. When the treacherous high elf bastards allied with the idiotic humans against us, we sought out our supposed "cousins"... and the war began. The bloody human-elf alliance thought they actually stood a chance! But we showed them, right? 

Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? I am Seraphiel Quicksilver, military leader of the Dark Elven Kingdom of Vexilen. 

Now, you may ask yourselves, how is it that I know these things that happened before my time? That's an easy question, actually. My mother was there when it all happened, nearly a millennium ago. Now, in spite of being disfigured and tortured, most of those who were taken prisoners survived, and they even had children of their own. After they decimated the entire human tribe during their escape, of course. Somehow, the curse of being... let's say unnaturally deformed (though we _have_ been called worse, of course) passed on to their offspring. _Most_ of them. There are those few of us who have been born looking like the dark elves of old, all of us progeny of families with lots of magical potential. 

So I am one of these few. Well, _were_ is more like it. After 400 years of fighting one does not maintain a pretty face and unscarred body. But it isn't like it matters among my people, and not even the scar across my face that an overzealous high elf soldier gave me while trying to split my head in two right before I ran him through with my sword like a piece of rotten cheese can change the fact I am one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence. 

I still have that silly high elf's ears stored in a jar as a souvenir. It's on the mantelpiece of my study back in Vexilen. 

Now, about that bare-handed killing of a high elf. That's how we began, isn't it? The first one was right after we captured Greenmoor, the stronghold I find myself in right now, and it was dear old Ariel's mother. 

Don't look at me like that. Female elves are nearly as good fighters as female orcs. And female orcs are utterly vicious. But this woman had it coming. I probably would have spared her life if it hadn't been for her incessant complaints. 

Then again, probably not! I killed _her_ in front of the city folk (well, what was left of them), and her husband and daughter followed suite. And now, all that is left of her family is pretty and valiant Ariel... 

... who lost the battle against our army and was taken prisoner. His head is still on his shoulders because I wished it so; and my orders are normally obeyed - unless someone really wishes for a violent death. 

They have just informed me that Ariel Greenmoor is to be brought before me tomorrow evening. Hmm... I wonder how he will be like. We have never stood face to face, actually, but they told me he used to be incredibly proud and arrogant. And pretty, of course - but then again, all high elves are pretty-faced. 

Speaking of pretty... I have a very, very _pretty_ gift just waiting for him to come see it. And then, eh and I are going to have some fun together. Me more than him, I suspect; for I intend to make him beg on his knees for me to end his miserable life. 

* * *

He had more guts than I'd thought. 

Ariel Greenmoor, I mean. I must confess, he left quite an impression. Then again, he _is_ an exceptional male specimen of his people; proud, impulsive, brash, but still exceptional. 

Let me tell you a little about our meeting last night. 

I was expecting him in the huge room that had been a banquet hall before Greenmoor fell, and which I had turned into my temporary council hall. By orkish custom, that also means mead hall; so our fellow allies the orcs were quite drunk by the time the high elf prisoner was brought in.  I confess, I had had a few cups myself. But drunk I was not - maybe feeling a little more cruel than usual, but definitely not drunk. Had I been, the elf would be dead by now. 

So anyway, I had prepared for his arrival and was wearing my best for the occasion, a finely-crafted armour that would leave even an expert high elf smith in awe. I lounged in this huge chair that stood on the dais - probably the Lord of the Keep's seat, except that now it was _mine_! - and was waiting for my soldiers to bring him forth. 

The heavy oak doors opened and they literally dragged him into the hall. Leading the party was Fareth Ploughscolt, one of the best generals this army had. I knew it had been he who had captured the elf, and smiled thinking of how my most loyal follower must have treated him on the way here. 

Well, it's not like he would be better off in my hands. 

I gestured for the orc general to come forth, and I praised him on a job well done, offered him some newly-acquired land next to the human border (Fareth likes to keep busy) and a dozen barrels of the best wine in my cellars. Then I gestured for the prisoner to be brought forth. 

Fareth pulled on the chains that bound Greenmoor with great vigour, making the elf land square on his face right in front of the dais. Pale hair spilled all around, matted with caked blood and dirt... and other things. 

I grinned. Fareth _had_ kept him alive, but I had not given any orders regarding the condition I wanted him in, except that he was not to be permanently scarred. _That_ was _my_ prerogative. And my general had probably had his way with the prisoner more than once. 

"Stand up!" I ordered, my voice thundering in the hall. 

Slowly, he pulled himself up; on his knees, than on shaking feet, the wild tangle of his hair still hiding his face. His hands had been bound in front of him with heavy shackles. Similar devices circled his ankles, though with a length of chain attached to them so that he could walk; these were in turn attached to the chain Fareth still held in one hand, grinning maliciously. 

One week in overzealous Ploughscolt's hands would have broken anyone, but I could see some pride left in this elf. In spite of the bent head and stumped shoulders, he had a certain bearing only those of old blood can pride themselves on. 

He had a slender body, now bordering on emaciated. 'Easily breakable,' I told myself. 

"Look up, elf!" Turning to one of the orcs that had accompanied Fareth, I barked, "Get that damned hair out of his face so I can see it!" 

The man misinterpreted my order - probably of his own free will -, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the elf's head back, making a whimper escape cracked lips as pale and frightened blue eyes met mine. 

Ah, yes! I could see his beauty even past the bruises that covered his face in a variety of colours. All elves are beautiful, but this one... oh, this one was magnificent, even standing there in soiled rags, hurting and most likely more than frightened by the horde of orcs in the hall. 

I got up from my comfortable chair and descended the few steps separating me from him, smirking all the way. 

"So, Ariel Greenmoor... not so proud and brave as you were in those pitiful songs, are you now?" 

I think he was a little startled by me, though I could not say why. However, I did not give him time to think of a reply, let alone voice it. Gesturing to one of my minions, I told the elf, "There are a few people I want you to see, Greenmoor. Be nice and say hello." 

He turned his head in the direction I had pointed, deliberately slow, probably expecting to be beaten at any given time. He surely knew who I was by now, and he too would know of my reputation. The fact that I enjoyed seeing high elves suffer was just another one in a very long list their bards and minstrels made up. 

I saw him flinch as the three heads were presented to him like nothing more than ornaments on silver trays, trays that he had doubtlessly eaten from at one of those fastidious banquets high elves so enjoyed. He started shivering again; then something happened, something that made me change my mind about killing this one. 

Turning towards me again, eyes cold and filled with hatred, he spoke. It was just one word, but it encompassed the full extent of his feelings for me. 

"Fiend!" 

It made my eyes glitter, molten amber against dark skin. There was still something of the overly-confident elf we had dealt with for the past two centuries left in him. 

I rejoiced. 

Fareth, on the other hand, understood this quite differently. He used the chain he still held to pull the elf forward and landed a heavy blow on his face, sending the prisoner back on the floor in a heap. 

I snarled as I saw Greenmoor curl himself into a ball despite the presence of his bonds. "That's enough, Ploughscolt! You forget who the leader is, and to whom this elf belongs!" I waved one of my fellow death orcs forward, and ordered that Greenmoor be taken into the rooms I had taken as mine for the stay. 

"I'll wipe that impudent look from your face and make you beg for mercy," I whispered after them, a bit too loud in order to suit my purposes. 

Loud howls erupted from the tables, as Ploughscolt bent forward to inform me, "I'm afraid there isn't much of him left to break, sire." 

"Fareth, there is _always_ something left. You should know that better than I do." 

So I wanted him for myself. Big deal! 

When I returned to my rooms, I found the elf lying motionless on the floor, the chains linked to the foot of the bed. He had been stripped of his rags, and I could clearly see the welts of a recent flogging a furious red against patches of pale skin and darker bruising on his back and thighs. He gave no sign of having heard me come in. 

'Not so proud now, are you, Greenmoor?' I thought. 'Wait till you see what fate awaits you! You shall curse me for not having killed you, snivelling elf.' I stepped forward to loom over him dangerously. His hair, long and usually blond, had taken on an ashen colour. And he stank - not in the way elves stink, but of dirt and caked blood and bodily refuse. Not surprising, really. 

* * *

It took three days for the elf to come to his senses. 

Obviously, I couldn't let him stink up my room, so I had one of my servants wash him up and put a healing spell on him. By the time he woke up, most of the marks on his body had faded, leaving me with great expanses of flesh to admire, and thinking of ways to mark that paleness again and again. In fact, I was in the process of inspecting one of my more vicious lashes when he woke up and rapidly scrambled on his feet when he noticed me approach his bedding. 

Silly high elf. Hadn't he noticed that the pallet he had slept on was placed in a corner, and that moving backwards would trap him between two walls and myself? Oh well... he did notice it eventually, but not before it was too late. My hand was already closing around his neck, silencing his screams. His hands came up, trying to force mine away, but he was far too weak after his ordeal to accomplish this feat. Nor was he likely to get stronger any time soon. 

"Stop this nonsense!" I growled, not in a mood for games. Oh, I was in a _good_ mood because of him being there, because I got to enjoy every moment of his torment and humiliation. "You are my slave now, and will behave in consequence to your position." 

I ignored the panic in his eyes and pulled him forward with me. The trick right now was not to give him any time to think. As for later, he could think all he wanted - it wouldn't help him any. 

I stopped in front of one of my travel chests. Unlike thee others, this one held my favourite selection of sex toys and torture devices. (Why the two together? Hells, I am a sadist, and that says it all!) Opening it, I reached out for the three objects I had spent so many hours over in my youth, the only truly magical items in the whole chest. 

"There are a couple of rules all my slaves must follow, and I shall start teaching them to you at once. Rule number one: you will never disobey me, try to run away or try to take your own life. Any such attempt will be punished as I see fit at the moment. And I have just the thing to keep you from trying something as foolish as that." 

I showed Ariel the two bracers, silver-made and adorned with intricate magical symbols. I had spoken the incantation myself, the one who bound their wearer to me and me alone, and would not allow him to do anything that would hurt either me or himself. I pulled his hands up and, unbinding them, I fixed one bracer around each wrist. They had a portion that curved down to cover the back of the hand partially, where chain or rope could be fixed if I wanted his hands secured together. There was no need for that, though - only I could take them off. 

Then I pulled out the silver collar, a match to the bracers and serving the same purpose. It too had the possibility of fixing a chain onto it, either in front or behind, and had small sapphires embedded in the metal. Not much different from a piece of jewellery, but he knew the difference and it mattered quite a lot. 

He tried to pull away when I wanted to collar him; he raised his fists to hit me but to his surprise he could not move them. I grinned and pulled him forward by the hair, which had cleaned in the bath. The collar went around his slender throat and closed with a click, and he screamed as he felt the restraining spell take hold of him. 

I laughed and pushed him away from me, standing up and leaving him there on the cold floor, still naked safe for the signs of slavery I had bestowed upon him. 

"Why?" 

His voice was a hoarse whisper, fatigued and pained and yet... it managed to get right into that little piece of my soul that was still intact. Why, indeed. Because he had been strong and I wanted him weak, born free and I wanted him a slave, proud and I wanted him on his knees bowing to me. Because his pain and suffering made him even more beautiful than he had been, and because I wanted to possess that beauty. 

That was why. But I was not about to tell him. In fact, I was about to show him there was no mercy, not from me. 

I went back next to him, coiled my fingers in his hair and pulled him up so that his face was the same level as mine, so that I could whisper in his ear darkly. "Because this is what I am. This is what your people made me become. And there is no justice in this world for you, not anymore. Because you are my property, Ariel Greenmoor, and I can do whatever I wish with you." 

I released him and he fell in a heap at my feet, head bowed and body shaking. He knew that the only kindness he could expect from me was to give him food and a blanket to sleep on. Even orcs would have been more merciful than my people - because they would have killed him, and I would not do such a thing. 

* * *

That night I witnessed the efficacy of the restraining spell. I was returning from yet another feast, and I found Ariel standing by the window, wrapped into a sheet he had taken from the bed. When I saw he did not move as I came in, I understood he had tried to kill himself. He knew that escape was not possible, but if he threw himself from the window he would kill himself. He had not reckoned on my spell working when I was absent though. His body was tense, as if he was trying to move but he could not. I pulled him away from the window and into the general direction of the bed; he bumped into the mattress and fell at the feet of the bed, defeated. I saw scratches around the bracers and the collar - he had tried to take them off, but the spell had reacted before he could hurt himself too badly. His face was hidden underneath his hair, but his anguished sob and the way his body shook let me believe he was crying. 

I had never seen an elf crying, so I lifted his chin and witnessed a miracle in the making. His tears flowed freely down his pale cheeks and against my gloves, and his blue eyes shone with tiny diamonds. His tears would have softened even an orc's heart - but me, they filled with an inner delight. I would have his tears again that night, I knew. I would have _him_ that night, too. 

"I told you there was no escape, foolish elf. Now you force me to punish you." 

"Go right ahead," he laughed bitterly. "I will not give you the pleasure of hearing me scream." 

"Ah, but that's where you are wrong," I said, crushing his lips under my leather-clad thumb. "I will take you like a man takes a girl, Greenmoor. I will use you so badly you won't be able to walk tomorrow morning. And I am going to enjoy every single moment." 

His eyes widened at the promise in my voice, but the tears had stopped flowing. There was so much hatred and determination in his expression, that I slapped him hard enough to have his head fly back and hit one of the bedposts, although not hard enough to gash the skin; but he would have a nasty bruise in the morning. 

"Rule number two, slave. You will never speak unless you are told to, and you will always address me as Master." I yanked him by the back of his neck and threw him on the bed like he was a doll, pinning him down. "Do you understand?" 

He did not move or speak, so I pulled out my dagger and rested its cold tip against his cheek. "Answer me, or I will carve my name on your pretty face," I threatened. 

All elves are vain, prudish and proud - it runs in heir blood. If an elf had received the scar I have across my face, he would have taken his life. So it came as no surprise that Greenmoor answered shakily, "Yes... _Master_." 

I sheathed my dagger and gave him my most pleasant smile. "Good. Now be a nice slave and kneel at the foot of the bed, your chest against the mattress." 

I stood and went to the chest I had retrieved his bracers and collar from; there were many nice toys in there to keep me entertained for the night. I unlocked it and lifted the lid, and rummaged around until I found what I was looking for - a leather crop of wonderful craftsmanship which I had used on elf slaves before, and which was rather painful but did not leave any permanent marks. I also picked up a bunch of long and resistant leather straps, and a few other items I would use on my hard-headed slave. After I would be done with him, he would not disobey me a second time. 

Of course, that did not mean I would not do this to him again, just for fun. 

He heard me coming but he did not turn; his face was buried in the sheets and his muscles were tense. I grinned at the sight of his naked back, which would soon bear wonderful red marks. I grabbed his hands and used one of the leather straps to secure them together in front, the bracers making my job fairly easy. I then positioned him so that his torso was stretched on the bed although he was still in a kneeling position, feet slightly apart and his rounded backside showing deliciously. 

I licked my lips and felt myself hardening; but he would not get away that easily. I ran a gloved hand up his faultless back, then through his hair and started braiding it; when I was done, I tied the end of the braid with a little leather thong and pushed it aside, not wanting it in the way. I picked up the loose end of the strap and tied it to one of the bedposts, so his hands were properly stretched. 

"Don't move," I ordered, my voice low and dangerous; I saw him stiffen and brace himself for my intrusion, an intrusion that did not come. Instead, the crop descended on his back with precision, breaking a high-pitched cry out of him, both of pain and surprise. 

"See? I haven't even started and you're screaming already," I teased him. "So much for your promise." The crop descended again, and this time he did remain silent. Not a hard task, with his face against the bed; I also noticed him clench the sheets in his hands, as if it would diminish the pain. I knew from personal experience it did not. 

I delivered about thirty blows, and he had nearly passed out on me when I took a break, knowing he would need to regain a little strength before I could proceed further. "Enjoying yourself so far?" I asked, turning his head at one side to see if he was crying. Not yet, but he was close. 

I produced a scarf and showed it to him. "I thought you might need a little help with that promise of yours. And I don't want you to bite your tongue - I have better uses for it." Forcing his mouth open and gagging him was no hard task; I secured the ends of the scarf behind his head. Then I went to pour myself a glass of wine and drank it slowly, leaving him in that position on the bed. 

By the time I returned to stand behind him, he was fully conscious again. I ran a finger between his buttocks, agonizingly slow, and I knew he was again preparing himself to be penetrated. Well, he would get his wish, but it wouldn't be my cock - I was just getting started. 

I turned him on his back and he yelped when the crop marks brushed against the bed. "Easy now," I told him, placing my left hand on his abdomen to keep him still. I then sat across his legs so he would not kick me. He tried to thrash around when I groped at his crotch, but he was deliciously stretched and unable to move very much. 

I gently stroked his testicles, forcing them down in their sack and then fixing them there with the help of another strap. No use to have him get all excited about his punishment, right? I made certain the loops around his sack were tight enough to hurt a little - that was precisely the point. I then stood and returned him to his previous position, pinning his crotch firmly into the mattress and receiving a muffled cry as a result. Perfect! 

I parted his legs again and used my thumb to test his entrance. He was very tight, and needed some loosening up before he could take me. But I was prepared for that. I worked my gloved fingers into him one by one, using a bit of grease to ease their way in. I was not gentle about it and I heard him whimper against the makeshift gag, but I had no intention to stop. 

"Now, you understand that I could have just shoved into you and taken what I wanted, but the point of this exercise is not for you to merely get raped. I want to make it clear that I have total control over your body, and I can do whatever I want whenever I want it. And I have a rather creative mind, so beware." 

When I considered him loose enough, I picked up a cock-shaped ivory toy and pushed it inside, inch by inch as he fought against its intrusion. When I was satisfied with the length he had been forced to take in, I grabbed the crop again. This time I started from the middle of his thighs and made my way up administering slow and precise blows as he tried to get his body away from the crop but to no avail. When I delivered the first blow against his ass cheeks, he buckled and I knew his inner muscles were constricting against the ivory phallus, again and again until blood started flowing down his thighs, a thin rivulet of crimson against the pale skin. 

I threw away the crop, having had enough of it for the night. He trembled but did not move as I untied his hands, only to move him on his back again and sit across his chest, to bind each arm at a separate bedpost, so that they were spread across the mattress. I removed his gag, then I climbed down and taking hold of one slender foot I forced his legs apart and tied them to the posts at the other end of the bed, a few good inches in the air. He was spread-eagled on the bed, too exhausted to fight, his weight supported on his upper back, delicious dark lines marking the places where my crop had landed and the ivory phallus visibly protruding from his opening. 

Now would come the part where I did something vicious, something that would mark him as mine for all to see. 

While I had let him take that little break, I had searched for my marking poker, a thing no different from the ones used on cattle only this one was a bit smaller, and was usually used to mark my family's slaves. I had found it and placed it in the fire to heat up, knowing this moment would come. Even if Ariel Greenmoor escaped, even if he got rid of the bracers and the collar, there was no way he would be able to get this mark out of his skin. 

I grabbed the poker now, and for an instant I stared at the orange-red metal at the end. I then returned with it to the bed. The elf saw it and became alive instantly, all exhaustion forgot as he fought against the bonds. Alas, it was in vain, for he could not get away. So he started to beg, he who had not begged in his entire life. He asked me not to do this, not to mark him like that, please please please please... 

An agonizing cry broke through the night as I pressed the poker against the tender skin of his left hip, just below his navel yet far enough from his groin. I held it there and counted to twenty, waiting for the mark to imprint itself firmly into his flesh yet not dangerously so, and I laughed. I laughed as he screamed again and again and oh, how he cried then. Even as I returned the poker to the fireplace he screamed, and I was getting hard beyond thought. 

I took him then. I yanked the ivory phallus from his opening and replaced it with my own, and I shoved into him so hard he truly passed out. I did not care, and continued until I released my seed into his tight ass with a growl. He was mine now, Ariel Greenmoor, and I had marked him both on the outside and the inside. 

He did not know when I untied him, or when I spread salve over the burn mark so it would not get infected. I have no use for an ill bed slave, be it a proud elf or not. I let him have the bed that night, swearing I would not allow him to get used to it. But his screams had been too delicious not to earn him this little reward. 

He and I are going to have so much fun together. I can tell. 

* * *

**~ The End ~**   


* * *


End file.
